The Heart of Capricorn
by a certain slant of light
Summary: Caught up in the festivities of the Winter Solstice, the party relaxes and Ashe ruefully contemplates Basch's distanced demeanor. [BaschAshe][contest fic]


**Author's Note:** I've gone through a lot of planning stages (partly because I adore making lists and partly because I'm a massive procrastinator), but I've finally sat down to write this. I'm considering making it into a series, with one three-chapter fic for each solstice and equinox, each sponsoring a different pairing. Care to tell me your thoughts on that, my good sir and/or madam? T'would be much appreciated.

I was thinking today while watching the opening FMV for Final Fantasy XII (again), and it was the part where Basch walked into the war room and said his two bits. And then I looked at him, and was like, "Damn. He's like thirty-three but so attractive. Basch fon Ronsenberg is basically the Johnny Depp of Ivalice." xD You know it to be true. Only slightly less wonky and slightly more morose.

Spidering is a verb. Not in the technical sense, but if Dan Brown can use it, by God, so can I!

**Why Today's English Class Rocked:** We were reading "carpe diem" poems, and the first was called "To His Coy Mistress" and was very traditional and beautiful. The second was actually a song that Mrs. Pleskot put on. Which song, you may ask? "Let's Get It On" by Marvin Gaye. I laughed until I cried, and then I laughed some more.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy nor any of its respective characters, settings, etc. I do, however, own most terminology in this fic. Hands off. **This applies to all current and upcoming chapters.**

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"Sun Eve"

The mid-afternoon sun smiled lethargically down on the mountain, obscured by mist. Thinning clouds weaved their way about its peaks, posing the threat of winter chill. A sharp breeze swept up the slopes, dragging with it snowflakes and frostbite. Cold air swirled about and crept into the crevices of the rocks, leaving little haven of warmth. Snowdrifts wound and changed their shape by will of the wind, and frostwork spidered up the sides of the Rift's labyrinthine ravine. All this also plagued the refugee camp located at the summit, but its threat was worn thin by familiarity and bonfires.

Admittedly, the party had not intended on spending more than a day or two in the holy refuge that was Mount Bur-Omisace. However, they soon found their resolve was given little heed, as they were implored to stay by acolytes and refugees alike. Apparently they had arrived on a very special day: the twenty-first of December and the fabled eve preceding Winter Solstice.

"Winter Solstice?" Vaan asked, purely bemused. The inquiry was directed at an acolyte who stood before them, nearly two heads shorter than Penelo but infinitely older. If either of the orphans had really taken heed, they would have noticed that he looked very like Migelo. "What's that?"

The acolyte, rather than glare or sigh exasperatedly as most did when Vaan asked a question, chuckled. "It is a very special holiday celebrated here on Mount Bur-Omisace."

"Why is it only celebrated up here?" piped Penelo, equally curious but sporting a much more congenial tone.

The acolyte smiled, and Ashe supposed he was accustomed to telling tales. "Well, you see, it used to be a holiday celebrated by all denizens of Ivalice. However, in the decades that have passed, religion has lost its place in the hearts of the nation's people. As magicks became more widely practiced and science began to overshadow astronomy and its sister study of astrology, people began to find little use for the belief in a higher power. They lost their faith, instead placing it in the protective armor, vulneraries and magical sundries that are now produced and sold commercially."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Vaan interjected, and was shot an odious look by Penelo, Ashe and Balthier.

Again, the acolyte only laughed lightheartedly. "Well, my dear boy, as religion became less popular, so too did the festivities associated with it. It is thus that the Winter Solstice is now only celebrated by the remaining Kiltias – most of whom are here on Bur-Omisace – and those familiar with the ways of old. I believe even the Garif conduct some sort of event to honor it, though it is much different than what you'll encounter here."

"And what might that be?" asked Balthier.

The acolyte regarded him warmly. "I can only hope you'll stay to see."

Basch looked over to Ashe, who contemplated their situation for a moment. The acolyte peered up expectantly at her, though his gaze was warm and inviting rather than pressuring. She had to admit that they needed to restock on protectives, and rest wouldn't hurt them either. The prospect of celebration would lift everyone's morale as a bonus, and there was little rush to be off to the Stilshrine of Miriam.

Collecting her thoughts and putting plots for vengeance in the back of her mind for the moment, she nodded to the acolyte. "We will stay."

He placed a hand over his chest, pleased. "I know your party will quite enjoy the festivities to follow."

Ashe dipped her head in agreement and bid the acolyte farewell, watching him wander off into a group of idling Kiltias.

"We should not expend our time on frivolities," Basch warned her, appearing on her right. The rest of the group dispersed, Vaan running after the acolyte to ask more questions. Ashe, feeling fatigued, made her way to a tent provided by the Kiltias with Basch by her side.

"I am concerned for Larsa," she told him. "Penelo is too, I am sure."

He sighed heavily. "I empathize with him, but now is not the time…"

Ashe rolled her eyes. "There is never a time to have your father murdered." Her tone was surprisingly clipped and he regarded her with surprise. She sighed. "I cannot bear the thought of Vayne taking two fathers. Please, we will stay only for the Solstice and then be on our way. There is little hurry."

"Lady Ashe," he began, but cut himself short. Instead, he nodded and muttered a goodbye. She bid him a small wave and all but threw herself into the tent, physically and mentally exhausted.

Awakening hours later, the dim evening light barely crept through the flaps of the tent. A cool winter breeze kept the tent consistently freezing. Feeling a chill pique along her bare arms, Ashe groaned and hugged the blanket to her body, before condemning rest and rising altogether. She quickly righted her clothes and tossed off the quilt, heading back outside to see how the others were faring.

The scene before her was almost awe-inspiring. In place of the listless air that surrounded her when she had gone to bed in the afternoon, the evening was presently alight with laughter. Music drifted over the eddies of bubbling chatter and people clattered around one another, speaking excitedly. White, blue and red decorations hung from the tents and bonfires dotted the pathways, flooding the cold air with warmth. Where once there stood a collection of tents, they had all been placed to the side in order to assemble a reasonably large clearing. In the center of this was a motley wooden stage, only one foot off the ground, with musicians merrily strumming their instruments. Around them people danced and drank amiably, filling the evening with a sense of kinship.

In her stupor, the acolyte had furtively approached her side. She was awakened from her reverie by his familiar chuckle. "I told you would not regret your stay."

She nodded mutely. "This is the Solstice?"

He smiled, his blue and white features cheerful. "The first night of the Winter Solstice is called the Sun Eve. Each Kiltias holiday is celebrated along the span three nights, something they all share in common."

"Three?" she asked, befuddled. She then realized she'd told him they'd stay until the Solstice's end, and bit back a groan.

"Yes," he said, voice merry. "First is the Sun Eve, and then the Solstice, followed by the Dawn Lune. The Solstice is by far the best night, for that is the night in which everyone is permitted to partake in the drinking of the wine."

"How do you mean?" Ashe hadn't thought the Kiltias had banned wine on other occasions – she hardly thought it sacrilegious.

He began walking towards the festivities and she followed, interested. She had to walk at half his pace in order to not wander ahead, with her legs being twice the length of his.

"There is a special wine made for each Kiltias holiday, of which there are four," he informed her. "It is served only on the very day of the celebration, and its ingredients remain mostly a mystery. The wine of the Winter Solstice is known as Solune Frostkin Wine, and the only known ingredients (of which there are many), are tryate berries, pina root and gralene vine." When she gave him a perplexed look, he chuckled and answered her silent question, "They are rare plants cultivated only by the Elder Acolytes, who are also responsible for the brewing of the wine."

Ashe was silent for a moment. "I am impressed," she finally admitted. "I hadn't known the holiday was so sacred. My apologies."

He laughed. "Hardly. Still, I am glad you are enjoying yourself." He gesticulated toward the crowd. "Perhaps you would like to know more?"

She nodded. "Please go on."

"Well," he began, "it might interest you to know that the Winter Solstice is unique in the sense that it is directly related to the Dawn, Dusk, and Midlight Shards of lore."

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes," he told her. "The Sun Eve is representative of the Dusk Shard. The Solstice, which takes place tomorrow, is symbolic for the Midlight Shard. Respectively, the Dawn Lune is the day corresponding to the Dawn Shard."

"Why is that?" Ashe wondered.

He frowned. "I am merely an acolyte, and have not yet been taught such history. I know only that that is what it is now, for it is knowledge bestowed on all who celebrate the Solstice. Further details I know not."

She dipped her head in comprehension. "I understand."

The acolyte smiled up at her, and then stopped and pointed ahead. "Lo! There are your companions. Would you not like to celebrate with them?"

"Only if you've no more to tell me," she said.

He shook his head. "Perhaps tomorrow I shall have more tales to spin you. I must go now and aid with the Solstice's preparations, but I bid you a merry evening. Faram." With that, he turned and walked off into the crowd.

Ashe smiled and watched him disappear among the people before approaching the others. Balthier and Fran were off to the side, drinking wine and barely tolerating Vaan's insistence on some matter. She supposed Penelo was off consoling Larsa, while Basch sat alone on a rock, watching the night unfold. Barely catching a portion of Vaan's sentence ("Really, how old are you?"), she decided that company with the former captain was her wisest option.

She took a seat beside him, close enough so that if either of them moved in the slightest, their skin would brush. Still, it felt like miles to her. She supposed there was always that distance Basch had with anyone, one he had erected and guarded dutifully after Dalmasca's fall. Or, she thought suddenly, perhaps even all his life.

"The acolyte informed me that the Solstice lasts three days," she said guiltily. "I apologize."

Basch shook his head. "No, I believe you made the right choice. The rush is little, and a few nights of celebration will raise spirits."

Ashe absentmindedly wondered what in the world could raise Basch's spirit. She doubted even liquor would do the trick, and concluded that alcohol would probably only make him more morose than usual. "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself."

He shrugged. "If the others are well, that is enough for me."

She doubted the truth of that statement, but bit her tongue. "So you'll not partake?"

Finally, he looked at her. "Will you?"

She had been asking herself that same question all day. She sighed, looking out at the smiling faces of the people dancing and talking. "I know not," she admitted and nearly cringed when she heard how wistful her tone was.

Basch's gaze followed her own, his eyes habitually somber and steely. "Lady Ashe, does something trouble you?"

She was surprised by the question, but doubted Basch had much in the way of sympathy even if she answered truthfully. He was quite good with words and adept at self-sacrificing speeches, but on an emotional level she knew him to be hardened. Or perhaps, she considered wickedly, stunted.

"I have many troubles," she informed him, her voice frank, "but none plague me so that I cannot enjoy myself when need be." _That is the difference between us,_ she thought.

Basch said nothing, and the silence served only to widen the gap between them. His defenses frustrated her; he was the only person in their motley group who could truly empathize with her, yet he preferred to skulk in mute darkness. It irritated her to no end and fueled her most passionate anger in battle. Of course it had to, for what had fueled it before was his false betrayal.

Sometimes she had to wonder why he felt he deserved to be brooding about his lost nobility and pride. True, he had lost his title and respect, but she had lost her husband, her father and her eight brothers. The thought never progressed past that, though, for she soon felt vain and self-centered. It was an errant, pointless question solely because she already knew the answer. Duty to his country was Basch's life, it was all he knew and likely all he'd ever come to know. To lose something held in such high regard was just as painful as losing a loved one. Subsequently, she was proud of him for not losing the will to live.

He cleared his throat and spoke finally, "I believe I'll retire for the night. That is, of course, unless you'd have me stay."

In truth, she wanted to glue him there and make him talk about something that didn't infinitely depress her for once, but instead she shook her head and looked away. She saw his shadow dance among the firelight as he rose and left, and again the distance grew wider. A part of her wanted to run up to him, jerk him around, and place a good, hard slap on that grizzled cheek of his. Another told her to accept his pseudo-apathy and just be satisfied with his presence and dedication to her country. Still, dedication seemed to mean so little in comparison to his friendship.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The sun is not the only one at its greatest distance," she muttered ruefully.


End file.
